


It's All in Vain

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: Arthur’s got a hot temper that manifests itself by way of holes in his wall and doors of kitchen cupboards ripped off their hinges. He hangs art, makes ceremonial visits to Home-Depot, comes to terms with the loss of his security deposit. His job drives him up the wall. TA-ing for Cobb drives him up the wall. Up the fucking wall. It’s not the job per se and it’s not Cobb, not exclusively at least. Mostly it’s just that he’s twenty-three, starting the first year of his phd, a workaholic and mentally ill to a fault.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is an unfinished work that has been sitting on my hard drive and I'm hoping starting to post it will prompt me to finish  
> title taken from the song by Wet

Arthur’s got a hot temper that manifests itself by way of holes in his wall and doors of kitchen cupboards ripped off their hinges. He hangs art, makes ceremonial visits to Home-Depot, comes to terms with the loss of his security deposit. His job drives him up the wall. TA-ing for Cobb drives him up the wall. Up the fucking wall. It’s not the job per se and it’s not Cobb, not exclusively at least. Mostly it’s just that he’s twenty-three, starting the first year of his PhD, a workaholic and mentally ill to a fault.

‘ Could you pass that?’ Arthur says, pointing like a precocious child at the black binder on his coffee table, barricaded on the coach by Mal’s legs strategically placed across his lap.

They’re having a night of wine and overtly gauche French film at Mal’s request. This is not Arthur’s Saturday night of choice.

She eyeballs the thing, then casts him a dirty look. ‘ We agreed no work tonight.’

‘ I just need to take a look at-‘ 

‘ Arthur.’ She says lifting a cautionary eyebrow.

He collapses back against the arm of the coach with an exaggerated sigh, sloshing wine onto his shirt in the process. ‘ Oh, for fuck’s sake’ He spits as the liquid bleeds into the material. 

‘ You know-‘ Mal snipes pausing the movie. ‘ you are very bothersome.’

‘ Listen, I’m gonna have a fucking conniption fit unless you pass me that god damn binder right now.’

They engage in a brief, eyes only duel before Mal whips the binder at him with enough force to snap the bowl of his wine glass from its stem. He’s cleaning wine out of his couch cushions for weeks. They’ve all got their fucking problems.

//

Arthur’s therapist’s name is Shelley. She’s a middle-aged Ethiopian woman with curly black hair and freckles. He likes her (more than he likes most people at least).

‘ So-‘ She says, touching the butt of her pen to the divot in her bottom lip. ‘ how has your week been?’

As much as Arthur likes Shelley he hardly ever fails to make her job more difficult.

‘ Alright…’ He says, circumspect. ‘ How was Luna’s recital?’

You can’t always give it up so easily or that’s what he thinks at least.

She gives him an auspicious look. ’ Arthur.’

‘ Cobb won’t stop leaving shit in my workstation and it’s making me fucking nuts.’

‘ Is that right?’

‘ Yeah and he’s got me grading all his papers because he’s too busy trying to screw my best friend.’

‘ Hm.’

‘ I swear to God if he leaves another pen on my desk I’ll blow a gasket and stab him with it.’

‘ Arthur.’

‘ Okay, not actually but you know what I mean.’

//

Arthur’s meeting Eames isn’t anything unforeseen. Mal had been gushing about him since last Spring when the Arts department offered him a contract for the upcoming fall. It’s just that Arthur hadn’t given much of a shit until he’d seen him. 

It’s during the first faculty party of the year, right before the beginning of term. Arthur and Cobb are huddled together in a corner of the hall arguing about brutalism and looking especially unforthcoming. They hear her before they see her. She’s hollering in French, but no one is all that surprised because Mal has no concept of decibel or tongue when she’s wasted.

‘ Mon petit choux.’ 

She sidles up to them with her paws clutched in the arm of a sturdy looking man wearing an itchy looking sweater. The two of them fall silent and Arthur takes the moment to stare casually. He thinks something lewd about his shoulders and then a couple other things about his mouth.

‘ This is Eames. I’ve told you about him.’ Mal says reaching out and grasping Arthur’s arm as well. ‘ Eames, this is my Arthur.’

He greets him with a posh sounding accent and a warm smile.

Arthur shakes his hand. ’ I never poisoned my Rabbi for patting me on the head.’

‘ Oh?’ Eames says curiously, chancing a glance at Mal out of the corner of his eye. ‘ That was untrue?’

Arthur tilts his head just so. ’ Mal’s a compulsive liar, as you probably already well know.’

Mal scoffs in that very French way she always does. ’ You brought a peanut butter sandwich to Torah study and you knew he was allergic!’

Arthur makes a mental note to stop allowing Mal and his sister to inhabit the same locality.

Cobb gives Eames a withering look over their clasped hands. ‘ Cobb. Sorry about them.’

Arthur straightens his cuffs.


	2. Chapter 2

‘ So, anything happen this week?’

Arthur slumps into the brown chaise, props his arm above his head. It really is a terrible cliche. ‘ Oh, nothing really.’

‘ No?’ Shelley says, blasé.

‘ Mal and Cobb have really gone head first into this whole “relationship” thing.’

‘ Oh?’

‘ Mal never does this.’ He notices a dull ache forming behind his right eye. 

‘ Does it bother you?’

‘ Not per se.’

‘ And what do you mean by that?’

‘ They can do what they want. I just don’t know how well it’s going to turn out.’

‘ You don’t think they’re good together?’

He crosses and uncrosses his legs, thumbs at his bottom lip. ‘ Not particularly, no, but that’s a douchey thing to say isn’t it? To your friend, I mean.’

‘ Well,’ Shelley replies thoughtfully. ‘ Yeah.’

//

Eames becomes something of a fixture in their ensemble. He’s easily acquainted with their dynamic and he’s terribly charming. That is, charming in an entirely obnoxious sort of way. His rolling enunciation sounds like a cat’s purring and his perspicuous ease is comforting. Not that Arthur’s noticed. Not at all really.

Arthur and Eames are propped up against their respective couch arms in Mal’s apartment after a night of drinking while Cobb and Mal have gone suspiciously absentee.

‘ We should probably go.’ Eames says in a half-whisper, leaning in just a bit too close for Arthur’s liking.

His beard catches the shell of Arthur’s ear or maybe Arthur’s just imagined that.

‘ If they’re fucking I swear to god.’ He mutters hauling himself off the couch. ‘ Come on.’ 

They fumble with their shoes in the foyer, bumping knees and shoulders.

‘Bonne nuit, assholes!’ Arthur shouts before slamming the door behind them.

He comes to with his head torqued in the opposite direction of his body and a crick in his neck. He draws the starched duvet up to his ears and rolls out of the uncomfortable position onto his stomach. It’s something of a surprise to find Eames is conked out next to him. His head a hair’s breadth away from Arthur’s shoulder, his chin tucked in close to his chest. It is, unfortunately, a rather platonic state of affairs since they’re both fully dressed apart from their shoes and Eames is on top of the covers. He leans in close and shuts his eyes. A moment longer. One moment longer.

//

‘ So,’ Arthur says cramming the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. ‘ is Mal as lovely in the sack as she is in waking life?’

Mal’s got a brazen smile plastered on her face and she’s kicking her feet back and forth like a schoolgirl from her perch on Cobb’s desk. Cobb is deep crimson in his cheeks and it causes Arthur great joy. With perfect timing, another thing Arthur doesn’t notice about him, Eames thumps on their ajar door and comes in with a tragic looking pile of books tucked under his arm. 

He smiles something wicked at Arthur before glancing at Dom and Mal. ‘ Do I sense an air of anxiety in the room?’ He says.

‘ I once walked in on Arthur feeling up Mal in our office.’ Cobb blurts suddenly.

Mal laughs, delighted, and Arthur rolls his eyes.

‘ Oh?’ Eames says giving Arthur a curious look as he places down his stack of text.

‘ She found a lump.’ He replies easily.

‘ Well, I hope your breasts are alright, love.’ Eames says in a way only Eames can.

‘ Ah bah oui!’ Mal insists floundering a hand.

‘ Anyway, you don’t need to divert, Cobb.’ Arthur continues. ’ Eames was there when you left us to do somersaults’

Cobb is suddenly preoccupied with the papers in front of him. Mal takes that moment to hop off his desk and float toward the exit. ‘ You know-‘ she resolves. ‘ I think he’s quite keen on me.’


	3. Chapter 3

‘ I slept with my coworker.’

Shelley’s chin is rested thoughtfully in her palm. ’ Eames?’

Arthur’s dismayed by the fact that she already knows. ’ We didn’t even have sex. We just slept.’

‘ Did you want to?’

‘ Have sex?’ He says and it’s thoroughly un-Arthurian to deflect in such a way. 

Arthur imagines she’s rolling a metaphorical eye at him. ’ Yes.’

‘ You know, he’s not even really my coworker.’

//

Eames teaches a class on Contemporary Instillation Art, a survey course on the History of Baroque, and another on Feminist Art History. Arthur’s curious as to how he could possibly be qualified to teach such a broad range of subjects but it becomes apparent that he most certainly is when he gets going about his course work. Arthur’s always been casually art-minded but he finds himself becoming something of a prophet (to art or to Eames, he’s not sure); spending an inordinate amount of time flipping through slides of art Eames has provided for him and voyaging into deep web forums at ungodly hours of the night. They visit the Met in the fall just the two of them since Mal bails last minute to ambuscade Cobb who’s obsessing over his grant application for the summer term. 

Arthur trails Eames through the various exhibits feeling childlike and guileless. He takes a liking to the Islamic armor; opulent gems embedded in tarnished golds. Eames lingers on the painted pottery, phallic looking vases specifically.

They grab dinner at a dive down the road. Arthur’s competitive streak rears its ugly head when he’s had a few and he bets half his bi-weekly salary on his proficiency in billiards. Luckily, he thinks, Eames is rather terrible, that is in the practice round. He gets considerably more adept when Arthur’s money is on the table. 

Arthur gives him an accusatory look.’ You hustled me!’ 

Eames looks as innocent as he can manage, denies it whole heartedly, and Arthur almost believes him. The street front of Arthur’s apartment is unusually quiet and the shots of Jameson are settling nicely in his stomach.

‘ Do you want to come up?’

He thinks it’s a relatively tame thing to say to a co-worker after a night out. It’s entirely up for interpretation; it’s not necessarily an invitation to suck his cock (although it most definitely is).

Eames takes pause and Arthur considers the space between them. He can see the rise and fall of Eames’ chest in his periphery.

‘ Is this a come-on?’ Eames says his mouth curling in delight.

Arthur doesn’t manage to spit out a response before lips are dragging on lips. It’s soft and it’s sweet. He catches his thumb on the shell of Eames’ ear. 

‘ Come up.’ He says half into Eames’ mouth.

Eames turns his nose into his cheek before leaning away. ‘ I should go.’

Arthur’s disappointment hardly shows.

//

.’ Why would he even kiss me if he wasn’t going to follow through?’ Over the years Arthur has learned not to wait for Shelley’s response. ‘ It can’t possibly be that he’s not interested because he kissed me. Although, I invited him in… Maybe I’m a bad kisser.’ He tips his head back to look at her and she’s smiling. ‘ It’s not funny!’

She sobers up.’ I don’t think it’s funny.’

‘ Oh, please.’ Arthur presses stiff fingers into his temples. ‘ Should I tell him off?’

‘ Wouldn’t it help to let him know how you’re feeling? That you’re upset.’

Arthur mulls it over for a moment. ‘ I’m not upset but if I were I’d much rather repress it and then let it culminate in an angry blowout.’

‘ Do you think that’s helpful to your situation?’

‘ Yes.’ Arthur replies petulantly.

//

The negative space between him and Eames becomes readily apparent over the following month. Eames is brazenly suggestive, to say the least. Or that’s the way Arthur interprets it. His mere existence rouses both interest and annoyance in a variety of ways. Arthur finds himself throwing resentful looks at his pointed collars and patterned shirts, rolling his eyes at the way he plants himself in the middle of conversations with ease, demands attention. He sulks. In all fairness, it’s barely perceptible but nonetheless, he sulks; in his head and to Shelley on occasion.

The sulking is interrupted by Arthur’s 24th birthday. The four of them pregame at his apartment and go to a club in Midtown. Mal drapes herself across Arthur, her silver slip throwing light across his cheek. She catches his tiara from slipping off and re-secures it to the hair at the crown of his head. She smiles sweetly at him, her mouth reddened by maraschino. 

‘ Oh, Arthur.’ She says, sentimental as always. ‘ You’ll be my maid won’t you?’

His confusion must show on his face because her smile grows twofold.

‘ Dom proposed.’

Her voice is garbled in the noise of the club so he ducks his head in close.

‘ Dom proposed!’ She shouts and there’s no mistaking it. ‘ I said yes.’

‘ When?’ 

‘ This morning.’ She says bending her head to rest against his shoulder.

It’s in the wee hours of the morning that they all go their separate ways. Mal kisses him on both cheeks and he can’t rid himself of the knot in his stomach. He splits a cab with Eames and they bicker about whether Cobb will cry when Mal comes down the aisle.

‘ I can’t believe they’re getting married.’ Arthur says looking absently out his window.

Eames watches him intently from across the worn leather seat.

‘ I can’t believe Dom didn’t tell me.’ He continues.

‘ What would you have said if he did?’ Eames asks as if he already knows the answer.

Don’t act like you know me, Arthur thinks, he’s right, isn’t he? 

Eames’ cheeks are splotched red from the cold. There’s a dampness in his eyelashes and on his cheeks; melted snow. Arthur leans over and pushes the wool of Eames’ scarf down and away from his mouth. Eames eyes are sharp as glass, attentive, waiting.

‘ You know…’ Arthur says quietly. ‘ You can’t just kiss people and then fuck off.’

Eames makes a fascinated sound in the back of his throat. ‘ Is that so? I wasn’t aware, pet.’

‘ Don’t worry. I love a good redemption arc.’ Arthur mumbles before he kisses him. 

Eames makes it past the lobby this time, into the elevator, all the way in to Arthur’s bed. His throat tastes of sweat and menthol. A seemingly unappealing combination that acts as an aperitif. Arthur tries to impress pertinent details into his memory in the tragic event that this is the sum of their coquetry. Eames’ hands and arms. The line of his nose and the ink across his chest, down either arm. His teeth on Arthur’s neck. His voice, deep in his throat. 

In the morning, just like the last, Eames’ chin is tucked in close to his chest. He is, however, stripped naked under the covers this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is wildly disjointed but I'm kind of past the point of no return here and I kind of like it?

Arthur is sick of working, he catches a cab. He can’t keep his eyes closed, he walks. Eames is the embodiment of sleep between the hours of midnight and nine: creased, quiet, easy. His apartment is muted and dim. Arthur presses cold hands and nose into warm skin, practically trips over himself like a half-blind puppy into waiting arms. It’s a cluttered prewar walk up with questionable infrastructure. He shares a wall with a woman who plays cello at 7 every morning (of which Eames sleeps through entirely too easy). A queen bed that creaks with Arthur’s added weight. A mattress that he swears sags to one side so that he can’t help how they always rouse with fronts plastered to backs.

He doesn’t mention it to Mal, a voice in his head says he’s keeping it close to his heart but the other voice insists it’s only because it can’t possibly last. At some point, he realizes she’s privy to the whole thing anyhow. Arthur catches her once or twice watching the two of them absently and she doesn’t shy away just slips into a casual smile. Eames has probably told her himself or it could certainly be that Cobb has finally caught on after walking in on the two of them looking ruffled and suspicious in their office a few too many times.

//

Eames’ teaching assistant drops into their office one afternoon. Arthur’s seen her around campus on occasion, mostly in Eames’ shadow. She’s petite but she’s got a serious look about her. ’ Eames wants to know if you want to get lunch.’

It takes Arthur a moment to process what she’s just said but as soon as he has he refrains from even sparing a glance in Dom’s direction. 

‘ Ariadne, isn’t it?’

She nods.

’ Eames isn’t your slave master.’ He says deliberately.

The girl blinks her wide brown eyes and Arthur can see the naivety seeping from her pores. 

‘ Sorry?’

‘ I mean-‘ Arthur sets down his pen and folds his hands atop his work. ‘ you aren’t required to act as Eames’ messenger pigeon. There’s this thing-‘ He raises his cellphone. ‘ called texting. It requires hardly any effort. You’re just starting your masters right?’

She nods.

‘ Don’t set about doing work that you’re not paid to do and tell Eames to go fuck himself.’

Ariadne hesitates but then agrees. ‘ Okay, thanks. Oh and before I go.’ She digs into her messenger and sets a bag of cinnamon hearts on the edge of his desk.

He waits, stoic until she’s gone to look over at Cobb who’s smiling all too enthusiastically at the draft on his desk.

‘ Oh, shut the hell up.’ Arthur says snatching the candy and slamming it into his drawer.

Eames takes his scolding happily over pho.

//

It’s a renaissance style ballroom with beautifully arching windows and a coffered ceiling. Arthur’s shoes click lightly against the mosaic floors and he can hardly take his eyes off the crown moulding. He’s like a moth to a light with Eames sometimes, that is when he’s not pretending to be indifferent. He looks funny in a classic black suit (paisley tie aside), handsome, but odd. Once Arthur’s got a few drinks in he can’t stop fixating on his mouth. He hangs ineloquently from his neck, watches his lips.

‘ Can’t believe they got fucking married.’ He mumbles touching his thumb to the freckle under Eames’ ear. He wants to kiss him, leans in close but refrains. ‘ Do you want to?’ He adds as an afterthought: “ get married.’ His eyes flicker from his mouth to his eyes. 

It’s not what he meant exactly and he resents his syntax once he’s said it, but he loves Eames’ teeth, thinks they’re the perfect sharp contrast against his soft mouth, so if his embarrassing comments secure him a smile maybe it’s worth it.

‘ Are you proposing?’ Eames huffs out in a staggered laugh, his hand smoothing the puckering fabric of Arthur’s jacket. His blunt fingers pause against the back of Arthur’s neck. ‘ I’m not one for weddings, but I’d marry you if you wanted, darling.’ 

He smooths Arthur’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

//

Arthur is looking earnestly at Eames from where he is pressed flush against egg white sheets. An honest look except: ‘ Your eyes…’ Eames says looking at Arthur from his perch up against the headboard. ‘ they do this wavery thing when you’re lying.’

Arthur lifts himself on to his good arm, ignores Eames entirely. ‘ Pass me a cigarette.’

In turn, Eames ignores him back. ‘ It’s your eyelashes, they flutter.’

He casts his chin down and smiles when their eyes meet.

‘ I’m an excellent liar. ’ Arthur says before glancing away and collapsing into his pillow.

‘ Maybe for everyone else.’ He muses blithely, resting the flat of his palm between the blades of Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur fights the urge to rise into the touch like a cat stretching into the sun’s warmth. 

‘ Flutter.’ Arthur mumbles in a mocking tone and Eames smiles to himself. ‘ Lying.’ He says in the same tone. ‘ What about?’

Eames watches the ceiling, traces his thumb along the divot of Arthur’s spine. ‘ That’s not-‘

‘ No, tell me. What do I lie to you about?’

Eames sighs. ’ Well, for one you lie about your hours: how many you’ve worked and how many you’ve slept… You lie about how much you’ve eaten and the last time you did something for your self. The lengths you take for Cobb and for Mal. The lengths you take for me on the side. Also, you lie about the amount of treats you’ve been giving the cat, the amount of fags you smoke, and not to mention whether you’ve watered the plants or not… Shall I continue?’

Arthur shifts again and half rises to give Eames a glaring look. ‘ A cigarette, Eames. Please.’

Eames pulls on his earlobe, concedes. ‘ Trying to set fire to our conjugal bed now is that it?’

‘ Ashtray.’ 

Eames concedes again and Arthur places the pinwheel crystal gingerly on Eames’ thigh. 

‘ I don’t mean to…’ He chances a glance at Eames and his eyelashes flicker. He breaths out an annoyed laugh. ‘ That’s a lie. I do mean to but only when I think it’s best.’

‘ It’s a bit meaningless though since I’ve figured your tell. I shouldn’t have said honestly.’

Arthur thumbs ash down Eames’ front. ‘ Oops.’ He intones with a terribly excessive flick of his wrist. ‘ I don’t have a tell.’ He adds. ‘ I resent that. You’re just insightful.’

Eames hums to himself.


End file.
